


What’re you gonna do

by Thei



Series: Cops [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (but mostly offscreen), (mentioned) - Freeform, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intimidation, Neil Hargrove Being an Asshole, Threats, billy resisting arrest, brief mention of teenagers fighting, hopper being a little rough, hopper doesn't like paperwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:02:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thei/pseuds/Thei
Summary: Hopper isn't particularly impressed with the Hargrove kid, at first.
Series: Cops [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748269
Comments: 22
Kudos: 157





	What’re you gonna do

Hopper was _tired_.

It had been a long day full of avoiding paperwork and dealing with a thousand annoying little things that eventually led to infuriating bigger things. The coffee maker short-circuited as soon as he got into work in the morning (Flo went to the diner around lunch and brought back a thermos full, to last them through the day), there was a clog in the drain in the station’s bathroom (Hopper made Callahan deal with it), and someone had hit a fox with their car and then brought the injured animal to the police station (the damn thing ran off as soon as it got inside, hid under Hopper’s desk and hissed at anyone who got close – it took half an hour and about a million curses to get it out of there and into the back of a car, so that Callahan could drive two towns over to the closest veterinarian). The day had culminated when an actual fist fight broke out – _in the police station_ – between two men who had been neighbors for thirty years and on non-speaking terms for twenty-seven of them. Hopper had managed to get between them, but neither one had backed down until Flo threw a thermos of now lukewarm coffee at all three of them. They’d stopped fighting, Powell and Callahan had finally moved to separate the men, and Hopper had gone into his office, fuming, to change out of his coffee-soaked shirt.

When he _finally_ got off work – leaving most of the paperwork in a depressingly large pile to be dealt with in the morning – it was seven thirty and he was already half an hour late.

El would be _pissed_.

He couldn’t blame her. She was stuck in the cabin all day, alone, and had long since grown tired of watching TV or listening to music to pass the time. She missed her friends. She missed human interaction, period. So, when Hopper got home, no matter how tired he was, he would have to put on a brave face for her and muster up a smile. And an apology for being late.

He wondered if Eggos for dinner would be enough to smooth things over, this time.

Lost in thought about possible forms of bribery, he almost missed the movement at the corner of his eye. There was something moving on the parking lot in front of the huge fenced-in area where they were building the new mall. Even when he spotted it, he briefly thought about ignoring it, because El in a bad mood was _not_ how he wanted to end this shit day. But he’d been a cop for longer than he’d been a father, so with a deep sigh he turned his car around to check it out.

A car was parked haphazardly in the middle of the newly-paved parking lot; lights on, the door on the driver’s side wide open. Hopper recognized the blue Camaro – probably the loudest car in Hawkins – as the one that had been parked outside the Byers’ place that night in November last year. He sighed again; considered leaving. But then he heard a crash like glass shattering, and that made him get out of his car and walk quickly towards the sound of a rattling chain fence.

He rounded a corner of fenced-in containers just in time to see a figure jump down and wobble on the asphalt, steadying themselves.

“Hey!” Hopper yelled, and the person turned and froze. And of course it was the Hargrove kid. Hopper had suspected as much when he saw the car, but he still frowned at the discovery. The guy had kept a relatively low profile after the night at the Byers’ – at least enough of one that Hopper hadn’t needed to get involved – but he’d heard things. About how wild the kid was. How violent he could be.

Now, the same kid was straightening up and looking like he was about to bolt.

“Don’t even think about it”, Hopper warned. “What are you doing here?”

“I …” The kid swallowed. “Nothing. Just … minding my own business.”

Hopper’s eyes narrowed. “Are you _drunk_?”

The kid licked his lips and his eyes darted to the side. “No.” He took a step back when Hopper walked up to him and leaned forward to peer into his eyes. His breath smelled of alcohol but he didn’t seem more then slightly buzzed. Still.

“It’s a school night, Hargrove. What are you doing out here, drinking, on a school night?”

“I told you. Nothing.”

Hopper looked over the kid’s shoulder, past the fence. Just next to the containers was an office trailer where one of the windows had been smashed. Glass was scattered across the pavement, as well as the remains of a green bottle. It was no doubt what had smashed the window and made the sound that made Hopper get out of his car, a minute ago.

He nodded towards the trailer. “Did you break that window?”

Hargrove opened his mouth, but Hopper spoke over him. “Consider your words, kid. I don’t like liars.”

To his credit, the kid’s mouth snapped shut before he could lie, but the glare that followed was frankly impressive.

“Does it matter?” he spat. “You’ve already decided I did it.”

“I don’t see anyone else out here”, Hopper said, motioning to the dark and empty parking lot. “Come on, let’s –“ He reached out for Hargrove’s shoulder, but the kid evaded his grip and backed up, snarling.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

And Hopper _really_ didn’t need this tonight. Not after this disaster of a day. He wanted to just turn around and go home, but he couldn’t leave this punk out here after catching him in the act of doing property damage – and especially not since he’d probably been drinking, and had obviously driven his car here. It would be irresponsible, and Hopper was trying his best to be more responsible these days.

“You’re coming with me, Hargrove.” He reached out again, and grabbed the kid’s shoulder in a hard grip. He didn’t expect Hargrove to fight him. Few people did. But before he knew it, he got a sharp elbow in the ribs that made him let go and hunch over. The kid used the opportunity to run past him, heading for his car.

“What the f–“ Hopper wheezed, but quickly collected himself. No way was that little punk getting away with that kind of behavior! The kid was fast, but he was slowed down when he slid over the hood of his car and had to use a precious second or two to right himself, and Hopper caught up to him just as he was rounding the – still open – door to the driver’s seat. “Hey! Hold it right there!”

Hopper slammed the door shut – almost taking Hargrove’s fingers off – and prepared to glare him into submission, when the kid actually geared up and _punched Hopper in the face_.

It wasn’t a very hard hit, and Hargrove’s eyes immediately widened as he took a startled step back – probably realizing that he’d made one _hell_ of a mistake – and for a single second, Hopper was frozen with disbelief. Then the sting of the punch registered in his brain. His hand shot out and he grabbed the kid’s arm, and got him on the ground in under three seconds, even though the kid kept thrashing against Hopper’s hold.

“Stop squirming, you little –“ Hopper cut himself off there because he was a _professional_ , dammit.

Hargrove did _not_ stop squirming – if anything, he doubled his efforts to get away, and Hopper had to put a knee in his back and push the kid’s head down against the asphalt in order to stop him from fighting back. Only then did realization seem to sink in, and his panicked struggles cooled down, leaving him breathing heavily with his eyes screwed shut.

He wasn’t the only one breathing heavily. Hopper had been elbowed in the ribs, punched in the face and forced to _run_ in the last minute – he was fuming, and had to remind himself that this was just a stupid kid and not an actual assailant. Still, it was very tempting to just smash his face against the ground. Hopper valiantly resisted the urge.

What the kid did was _exceptionally_ stupid, though, and he planned to make sure he knew it.

“Are you _serious_ , kid? Assaulting an officer? _Really_?”

The kid just bit out “Get off me!”, even though he was pressed to the ground and in no position to be making demands. Hopper actually laughed at that.

“Yeah, no.” He reached for his handcuffs and pulled the kid’s hands behind his back, cuffing his wrists together. Hargrove resisted, but Hopper was stronger. When he was done, he got up, pulled Hargrove to his feet and pushed him up against the Camaro, chest first. Hopper then started patting him down, which proved to be quite an ordeal. At the first touch, Hargrove tensed up and made a move as if he was going to make a run for it again, and Hopper had to physically hold him against the car in order to finish the pat-down. The only things in the kid’s pockets were a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a crumpled five dollar bill. Nothing incriminating that he could nail the kid for – which, honestly, he didn’t really need after have gotten punched in the face.

“Alright”, he said and yanked Hargrove back. “Let’s go.”

He pushed him towards his Cruiser, but didn’t let go of the grip on his arm. He couldn’t see the kid’s face, but when Hargrove spoke next his voice was wavering. “Where are we going?”

Hopper considered this. He _should_ take him down to the station, call his parents and maybe have him spend the night in a cell. It would be the proper thing to do. But it was also _late_. He wanted to go home to El, and if he took the kid downtown he probably wouldn’t get out of there for a couple of hours. The next best thing, then, would be to simply drive him home. Give him a warning and let his parents deal with him.

Apparently Hopper took too long to answer, because the kid stopped walking and said again, louder, “Where are we _going_?”

Hopper tightened his grip and kept moving, but the kid ripped himself away and sidestepped him when he reached out again. He was glaring at Hopper – probably not realizing just how unimpressed Hopper was with him right now – and snarled, “I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me where we’re going.”

“Would you rather I left you here?” Hopper growled when the kid kept backing up, because he was more than ready for this fucking day to just be over. “Handcuffed, and without a means to get home?”

The kid’s reply was instantaneous. “Yeah, I would.”

It made Hopper huff, but not with amusement. He gestured widely at the empty parking lot; at the skeleton of a mall, the building site and the woods beyond it.

“Be careful of what you wish for, boy”, he said, his voice a deep rumble. “There are things out there that –“ _That could kill you. That could rip you apart limb from limb. That if you saw them, would make sure you’d never sleep through the night again._ “– that you don’t want to mess with. You hear me?” He took a step closer and thought of monsters, and watched with narrowed eyes as the kid backed away from him further, as if _Hopper_ was the dangerous one here. “A punk kid like yourself could get into a lot of trouble in these parts, and in these woods? There wouldn’t even be a body to send home to your mother.” Because he’d be demodog-food, or in an alternative dimension. Not that he could tell the kid this. _Fuck_.

Hopper stopped himself and took a deep breath through his nose to calm himself down, and wished for the twentieth time in the last day that he’d taken that job in Chicago, four years ago.

The kid’s eyes were wide, and he was breathing shallowly with his mouth open. He looked terrified. Too late, Hopper realized how threatening what he just said must have sounded to someone who didn’t know about the dangers of Hawkins. He took another deep breath and shook his head, all out of patience. When he reached for the kid this time, there wasn’t anger in the kid’s eyes – it was something closer to fear.

“I’m sorry”, he blurted as Hopper started shuffling him forward again. “I’m sorry, sir. Please don’t –“

“I’m taking you home”, Hopper said, gruffly, to put an end to the discussion and make him _move_. “Where do you live? And _don’t lie_ to me.”

They reached the Cruiser, and Hopper opened the passenger door and turned the seat down, but straightened up and glared at the kid until he answered.

“Cherry”, he said, voice almost a whisper. Hopper nodded, and got him in the backseat. When he’d buckled the kid in, he closed the door to the Cruiser and went back to the Camaro. There was a bunch of shit in the front of the car – a ratty blanket, half a pack of cigarettes, a crumpled up shirt. Hopper took all of it and threw it to the passenger side so he could squeeze himself into the driver’s seat. The keys were still in the ignition, so it was easy to start the car and drive it to the side of the parking lot, where it would be out of the way for the workers who would undoubtedly show up tomorrow. Hopper locked it up before walking back to the Cruiser and getting in. Hargrove watched him like a hawk the whole time – Hopper could feel his eyes on him – but he didn’t speak.

He didn’t speak for the entire ride, actually. Hopper was watching him from time to time in the rear view mirror. The kid kept glancing at him, and each time he saw that Hopper was watching, he turned his head to look out the window instead. When they turned onto Cherry Lane, Hopper cleared his throat.

“Which house is yours?”

Hargrove directed him to a low-set white house at the end of the street, and Hopper parked his car on the side of the road. He got out, walked around the car, pulled the kid out and walked him up to the door. After ringing the doorbell, he took a step back and glanced over to the kid. He was pale and kept his head down – not unusual for a teenager who was brought home to their parents by the police. Somehow, whatever they’d done never seemed to be worth it when they were faced with the disappointment of dear old mom and dad.

Belatedly, Hopper thought of unlocking the cuffs, but that’s when the door opened and he had to straighten up and pay attention.

The man who opened the door – the kid’s dad, probably – already had his mouth open as if he’d been about to speak, but at the sight of Hopper and his son on the porch, his mouth snapped shut. He looked between the two of them and then turned to Hopper.

“Good evening, Chief.” There was a question in the man’s voice, but he didn’t say it out loud. Hopper heard it anyway, and gave a curt nod.

“Good evening, Mr … Hargrove?”

“Neil”, the man nodded, and shook his hand. His handshake was firm.

“Well, Mr Hargrove, I’m afraid Billy here got up to no good tonight.”

Mr Hargrove frowned and glanced over at his son, who was standing stock still next to Hopper and refused to look any of them in the eye.

“How so?” The question was directed at Hopper, but the man wouldn’t look away from his son.

“I found him throwing bottles, vandalizing the – You know where they’re building the new mall?”

Mr Hargrove turned his attention to Hopper, then, eyes widening a fraction. “Yes, I work there. I’m a contractor.” They both turned at one to look at the kid, who was grimacing and biting his lip with his eyes closed, head bent forward.

“Billy.”

The man’s voice was stern. The kid straightened up and looked him in the eye, swallowing. “Dad.”

“He also, um”, Hopper started, strangely hesitant to admit that the kid had punched him in the face. The kid turned wide and terrified eyes towards him, and he decided that he didn’t have to tell the man _everything_. “He also resisted arrest.”

“Billy”, the man said again and the kid’s attention snapped back to his dad. “Is this true?”

“Yes, sir”, the kid said, voice almost a whisper.

“Drinking on a school night”, Mr Hargrove started listing off on his fingers. “Vandalizing _my workplace._ Resisting arrest.”

With every accusation, the kid seemed to shrink in on himself. Hopper almost felt bad, which was why he spoke up. “I brought him home instead of to the station because I thought we could solve this without it ending up on his record.” And not at all because Hopper was already working overtime, oh no.

Mr Hargrove looked grateful, though. “I appreciate it, Chief. I’ll talk to the site manager tomorrow, see if he wants to press charges. If not, well. I’ll make sure that Billy pays for what he broke, and he’ll go down there himself and apologize. Won’t you, son?”

“Yes”, the kid said to his feet.

“And I don’t suppose I have to tell you this, but you’re grounded indefinitely. No car for a week, you can take the bus to school. I–“

“Oh, that reminds me”, Hopper said and reached into his pocket for the kid’s keys. “The car is still at the parking lot outside the mall. You can pick it up in the morning. I locked it up.” He handed the man the keys, and watched out of the corner of his eye how the kid followed the motion.

“Well, Chief –“

“Hopper. Jim Hopper.”

Mr Hargrove gave another curt nod. “Thank you. For bringing this to my attention, and for bringing Billy home. Quietly.” He inclined his head, like he was grateful. Hopper nodded too, because it never hurt to have people think you’ve done them a favor. “I’ll make sure he knows that his behavior is not acceptable.”

They shook hands again, and then Hopper turned to the kid. Fished out the key to the handcuffs and unlocked them with an apologetic look at Mr Hargrove. When Billy was free and awkwardly rubbing his wrist, Mr Hargrove gave him a stern look.

“Now, Billy. Chief Hopper here went out of his way to bring you home, and didn’t take you down to the station. Don’t you have anything to say to him?”

“Thank you, sir”, the kid murmured. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Hopper clapped him on the shoulder – noticing how tense he was, still – and gave it a pseudo-friendly shake. “Make sure that you don’t, and we’re good, kid. Take care now.” He directed the last part to both the kid and Mr Hargrove, and then finally took his leave. Once he got to his Cruiser, he looked back just in time to see Mr Hargrove put his hand on the back of the kid’s neck and guide him into the house. Then the door closed, and Hopper let out a weary sigh.

He was _so_ late.

He was lucky that there weren’t many cars out in Hawkins after dark, so he could drive over the speed-limit on his way home. He felt a little bit bad about it, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to pull him over – with him being the Chief of Police.

Unsurprisingly, El was pissed off when he finally got home. There was no use explaining the kind of day he had – he never wanted to become the kind of parent that unloads his troubles on a kid – so he settled on apologizing, promising to try to do better in the future, and making pancakes from scratch.

The pancakes did the trick, and he managed to coax a smile out of her before they turned in for the night.

***

After that night, Hopper saw Billy Hargrove in passing a couple of times, but they never interacted. Hopper just mentally noted that it was him, but didn’t otherwise care. He hadn’t heard anything from the site manager, so he figured Mr Hargrove kept his word – and he was grateful for it. It meant less paperwork, and Hopper was always a fan of less paperwork.

He’s always been more of a hands-on person than a paper-pusher.

The next time he actually interacted with the kid, though? Was almost two months later. The station had gotten a call from a lady who’d heard a scuffle and loud voices coming from an alley, and Flo had radioed Hopper, who was close. He knew which alley they were talking about – it was the one behind the movie theatre, which had a chain-link fence at the end of it. It was good for if you wanted privacy, for whatever reason – but bad if you wanted to run from the police, since there were only one way in and out of there.

Hopper parked the Cruiser obnoxiously at the opening of the alley, and got out of the car. He heard loud voices before he actually saw what was happening, but judging from the grunts and shouts, he could guess what was going on. When he got closer he could see a group of five, maybe six teenagers, standing around and watching a writhing, cursing pile of limbs on the ground.

“Hey!” Hopper yelled, and it was like turning the lights on and watching cockroaches scatter. The kids looked up, startles, and then dispersed in every direction. Four of them ran past Hopper, dodging his half-assed attempt at grabbing them, and a couple ran down the other end of the alley to climb the fence. Hopper let them run; he had his sights set on the fighters.

Who were – and Hopper really shouldn’t be surprised – Steve Harrington and Billy Hargrove. Hopper resisted the urge to groan. These two and their rivalry … Had he been this bad back in high-school? He didn’t remember being this bad back in high-school.

Hargrove – Billy – was currently straddling Steve, who’d frozen at Hopper’s yell while holding a good chunk of Billy’s hair in his closed fist. Both of them were bloody and battered, and the startled look on their faces would have been funny if they hadn’t been beating the shit out of each other in Hopper’s town.

Billy ripped his hair out of Steve’s grip and got up, lightning-fast. Backed up until he could reach out and feel the wall with his hand, almost as if he needed to steady himself. Steve stayed on the ground, looking a little dazed.

Raising one eyebrow, Hopper drawled, “Wanna tell me what’s going on here?”

Apparently not, since no one spoke. Hopper sighed, and pointed at Billy. “You, stay there. Don’t move.” And then he walked up to Steve, grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Steve, with me.”

He walked Steve to the mouth of the alley, while keeping an eye on Billy – who, to his credit, didn’t move from his spot by the wall. When they were far enough away that Billy wouldn’t be able to hear them, Hopper turned to Steve and grabbed his chin, tilting his head up to get a good look at the damage. Steve protested, but Hopper glared at him until Steve’s hands fell back to his sides and he let himself be scrutinized.

It wasn’t too bad. Nothing broken, although Steve would probably wake up with a pretty impressive shiner tomorrow, and there was a scratch on his cheek that looked like it could have come from scraping up against something.

“You should put something on that”, Hopper commented before he let Steve go. It wasn’t like he cared or anything, but he’d had a secret soft spot for the kid since he’d helped protect El’s friends that night when they closed the gate.

“Yeah, yeah”, Steve muttered and wouldn’t meet his eye.

Glancing back at where Billy was still standing, Hopper lowered his voice. “What’s going on? Is Hargrove causing you trouble?” It wasn’t a stretch; he’d heard about the fight at Joyce’s, and had even had a hand in dealing with the aftermath. Driven Steve to the hospital, for example. If Billy Hargrove was still going after Steve, then Hopper wouldn’t hesitate to take action.

But to his surprise, Steve scratched at the back of his neck and shrugged, a little sheepishly. “Actually … I kinda started it this time.” He made a face, as if it pained him to admit it, and Hopper raised his eyebrows.

“You started it?”

“Um. Yeah?”

“Okay”, Hopper said, slowly. “Why?”

Steve made another grimace. “Listen, it doesn’t really matter. We –“ He trailed off, and lifted one shoulder. “It’s nothing.”

“The two of you were beating each other bloody in an alley, and you’re telling me it’s nothing?”

“Yeah.”

Hopper hmm:ed. On the plus side, it would mean less paperwork. “Okay”, he decided. “Get out of here.” Steve hesitated, but Hopper motioned for him to leave. Before he rounded the corner, though, Hopper added, “And for the love of god, kid, if you’re gonna beat each other up, do it somewhere where the neighbors won’t complain, will you?”

Steve huffed out a laugh and left, leaving only Hopper and Billy in the alley. Walking back towards the kid, Hopper sucked his teeth and thought about what he was going to say, now when Steve had admitted to throwing the first punch. He drew himself up when he got closer, put his hands on his belt and stopped maybe four steps away from the kid.

Billy tried and failed to look casual, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His shoulders were too tense, and his eyes were flicking between Hopper’s face and his hip – where his gun was strapped. Hopper almost felt offended. It wasn’t like he was gonna shoot the kid or anything.

“So”, he said, after clearing his throat. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

There was a darkening bruise on the kid’s cheekbone, and when he spoke, Hopper saw blood on his teeth. “Does it matter what I say?”

Hopper gestured with his arm to the empty alley. “Just you and me here, kid. I’m giving you a chance to tell your side of the story.”

“It was just a disagreement. _Sir_. It won’t happen again.”

Hopper hmm:ed again, because that ‘sir’ didn’t sound genuine to his ears.

“Well, let me tell you what Steve said, then, since you don’t want to give me _your_ side of things.” Billy clenched his jaw and averted his eyes – tensing up, as if expecting something bad. “Steve said that he threw the first punch.” And it brought Hopper a certain amount of satisfaction when Billy’s head shot up in surprise, a confused wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Is that true?”

Billy’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Hopper didn’t have the energy for this. “Because if it is, I’m gonna let this one slide, okay? So, was he telling the truth?”

Hesitantly, Billy nodded.

“Alright”, Hopper said and gestured towards the street. “You’re free to go.”

Billy didn’t move at first, not until Hopper backed away and made an exaggerated sweeping gesture with his arm. Billy walked past him without taking his eyes off him.

“Oh and do me a favor, Billy?” The kid actually stopped in the middle of a step. “Stay out of trouble.”

From what Hopper had heard about the guy, he expected a smirk, or a sarcastic comment. What he got was a surprisingly respectful nod and a muted “Yes, sir.” For some reason, it made him frown.

He got in his Cruiser and radioed Flo to let her know that the situation had been handled (she was as unimpressed as usual), and was about to drive off when he looked up and saw Billy walk down the street, heading towards home. The kid’s flashy car was nowhere in sight.

He stuck his head out through the window before he had a chance to think it through. “Hey kid!” Billy turned around. “Do you need a ride home?”

The kid shook his head, but didn’t move until Hopper had thrown his hand up and waved him off. Then, he turned and continued walking – only faster, now.

Hopper started the car. While driving back to the station, he couldn’t stop thinking about the kid. He’d expected more of a fight, more resistance, more biting comments. After their last run-in, he’d checked Billy Hargrove’s file. He knew that he’d been trouble in California, too. Since he got to Hawkins, he’d managed to end up on Hopper’s radar, not only because of their last run-in. He’d gotten a couple of speeding tickets, which still hadn’t been paid. He’d fought Steve Harrington – twice, now, even though it seemed Steve had given as good as he got this time – and bullied a bunch of kids. He wasn’t the nicest person, from what Hopper had heard. Had quite the reputation, actually, for someone who hadn’t even been in town for that long.

But this time, he’d actually seemed pretty subdued. Perhaps his father had managed to talk some sense into him?

***

It was a Friday when he finally got it.

He had to work late because Callahan had needed time off for the weekend – something about his sister getting married out of state – and Powell had his wife’s relatives visiting, so the only one who could work was Hopper. He had grudgingly agreed – well aware of the fact that he almost never had to work nights these days, so it was probably his turn – and arranged for El to sleep over at Joyce’s place. It worked well for everyone; Joyce was happy to have her, El was more than happy to be able to get out of the house for a while, and the kids (because apparently there was going to be a sleepover – Hopper didn’t envy Joyce at all) had apparently been overjoyed to have an evening together.

Hopper was very happy he didn’t have to be there for it, actually. Even if it meant he had to man the desk alone.

He was catching up on some paperwork again – Flo had refused to do it for him, because he’d jokingly told her that her blouse looked like a couch cushion that morning – when the phone rang. Hopper grabbed it almost desperately, hoping against hope that it was about something other than monsters or drunk teenagers.

“Hawkins Police Department, this is Chief Hopper speaking.”

Well, at least it wasn’t monsters. The caller was Hank Malloy, who had apparently driven past Hawkins High ten minutes ago and seen someone creep along the walls, looking suspicious. He had then, _naturally_ , felt it was his duty as a law-abiding citizen to let the police know, so they could stop any possible crimes from being committed.

Now, Hank Malloy was the kind of man who had once called the police because his neighbor’s cat ran through his yard, so Hopper wasn’t terribly fond of the man and considered ignoring him on principle. On the other hand, the prospect of a drive through a mostly-quiet Hawkins was better than being stuck at his desk in a mostly-dark police station – even if he would probably have to deal with a bunch of drunk teenagers and vandalism when he got there.

“Of course, Hank”, Hopper therefore said while standing up and reaching for his jacket. “I’ll check it out right away. Thank you for calling. Have a good night, now.”

Getting out into the evening air was calming, and he took a couple of breaths before lighting a cigarette and getting in his car. The drive over to the school was uneventful – he saw a grand total of six cars out driving on the way over, spotted a bunch of teenagers hanging out in the playground (he slowed down and gave them a look that said ‘I’m watching you’, but none of them ran, and he couldn’t see any bottles so he didn’t stop) and waved at Mrs Henderson, who was taking a walk with what looked like a cat on a leash. Jeez.

At first, when he got to Hawkins High, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The parking lot was empty, the building was dark. Then again, back in the day of Hopper’s own youth, he’d made sure to keep out of sight when he was up to something. The back of the building couldn’t be seen from the road, so that was probably where the vandals – Hank’s words, not his – were. He parked on the far end of the lot under a couple of trees, and hoped that it was enough to hide the Cruiser if anyone was keeping watch. He then got out of the car, patted himself down to make sure he had everything – gun, cuffs, baton, badge, cigarettes – and grabbed his flashlight before he headed towards the back of the building. Walking between the school building and the gym, he actually had to use the flashlight to avoid stumbling in the dark, but once he got out on the other side the low light from the sky was enough for him to immediately spot the car.

It was a very familiar Camaro, parked close to the back entrance. It was wedged into the small space between the wall and a row of bushes, and was actually quite the impressive parking job if compared to the last time Hopper had seen it, out by the mall, when it had taken up like four spaces.

Hopper looked around. There were no broken windows that he could see – no broken bottles, no drunk teenagers. Everything was dark and quiet. Perhaps the guy and whoever he was with had already found a way inside?

Hopper went for the doors first, but they were still locked. He looked down the row of windows next; all of them were whole, as far as he could see. He prepared to walk around the building, double-checking, and only turned his flashlight on the Camaro out of habit. The driver’s side was empty, of course. He had almost passed when he saw something moving in inside the car. Not a lot. Just a movement of _something_ , which stilled immediately after. It was enough for Hopper, though.

Reflexively, he reached for his gun, before thinking twice and knocking on the window instead, shining the light through the window.

There was a big lump lying in the front – across both the driver’s and passenger’s seats. The lump wasn’t moving until Hopper knocked again. “Hargrove?”

Slowly, a hand emerged from what was revealed to be a blanket, and a head full of hair popped up. Hopper sighed.

“All right, kid, get out of there. Come on.”

He took a step back and waited until Billy – because it was in deed Billy – had extricated himself from the car. He got out, hesitantly and a little hunched over, and leaned his hip against the side of the car – still holding the blanket in one hand, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it.

The blanket, for some reason, was what gave Hopper pause. He’d seen that blanket before – had carelessly thrown it in the back of the Camaro when he grabbed the keys, that night he’d driven the kid home. The blanket was ratty, probably brown (he couldn’t really tell in the light from the flashlight), and didn’t look very warm. Why would a kid like Billy have a blanket in the front seat of his car?

Better question: Why would a kid like Billy be lying _under_ that blanket, in the front seat of his car, at nine thirty on a Friday night?

In Hopper’s mind, there were two options: Either the kid had heard Hopper approach and hoped that hiding under the blanket would keep him from getting in trouble. Or –

Hopper shone his flashlight in Billy’s face, and exhaled harshly at what he saw.

Billy looked worse than when he and Steve had gotten into it, a while back. He had a fat lip – bottom lip swollen and dark – and a cut on his eyebrow that he’d obviously tried to patch up with a band-aid, but which had done nothing to stop blood from trickling down to the corner of his eye. His nose had been bleeding, too, even though he’d obviously tried to clean it up. With the sleeve of his jacket, if the stains were any indication.

“Kid …” Hopper said. Billy, who had turned his head slightly to avoid being blinded by the flashlight, straightened up at that. Hopper noticed him grimacing, and trying to discreetly brace himself against the car.

“What happened to you?” Hopper asked, because in the role of police chief, he had to ask. But he _knew_. Everything suddenly made an awful lot of sense – how quiet the kid had gotten when Hopper had brought him home that night. How uncharacteristically respectful he was to his dad. The blanket in the car – seen twice now – and how Billy had vandalized the place where his father worked. He’d been _acting out_. And Hopper suddenly felt like an asshole. He should have known. He out of _everyone_ should have known – should have seen the signs for what they were.

Unaware of Hopper’s self-berating thoughts, Billy shrugged one shoulder. “Nothing.” Seeing the unimpressed look Hopper gave him, he quickly tacked on a “Got in a fight.”

“With who?”

“Just some guy.”

Hopper took a deep breath and changed tactics. “What are you doing hiding out here, then? Licking your wounds?”

Billy grinned, but it turned into a grimace when it pulled on his bottom lip. “Don’t wanna be late for school, is all.”

“It’s Friday.”

“So I’m _really_ early, then.”

Hopper shifted his weight and crossed his arms over his chest, and didn’t miss the way Billy tracked his movements. “Cut the crap, kid.” Billy’s mouth snapped shut, which was not what Hopper wanted. He tried to soften his voice when he asked, “Everything good at home?”

Eyes narrowing just slightly, Billy nodded. “Just peachy. Sir.”

“Sure it is”, Hopper said, getting angry – at himself, at the kid, at the kid’s piece of shit father – and snatched the ratty blanket out of Billy’s hand, making him flinch just the slightest bit. “That’s why you’re beaten to hell and sleeping in your car behind the school. Looks real _cozy_ , son.”

At the word ‘son’, Billy clenched his jaw and his eyes snapped up to meet Hopper’s. He was _angry_ , and visibly holding back from speaking. Hopper took a deep breath and dragged a hand down his face – he was obviously going about this the wrong way.

“Look. Billy. If anyone’s beating on you, at home or anywhere else – I can help you.”

The kid actually laughed at that, although there was no joy in it. “Nice try, _sir_.” And there was a sneer on his face, now. “But I’m not squealing. You don’t have to worry.”

“I don’t have to wo– _what_?”

“I’m not a snitch.”

Hopper resisted the urge to rub the bridge of his nose. “I’m not saying you are. I’m saying that you can _tell_ me, if –“

The kid gave another derisive snort. “Of course, sir.”

Oh, Hopper had obviously fucked this up from the start. Of course the kid wouldn’t trust him, after … shit, he’d basically delivered him home to his abuser on a silver platter, hadn’t he? That first night. When the kid had probably been trying to stay away from home.

_Shit._

Hopper had _fucked up_ , but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do something to help now. He wasn’t sure what, though. It wasn’t like he could leave the kid in his car just because he couldn’t go home. But he also couldn’t bring him to the cabin – he still had a couple of hours to work, and besides, he wasn’t comfortable bringing a stranger home, even if El wasn’t there right now.

Which left Hopper with only one option, which probably wouldn’t go over well. He sighed. “Bring your things, kid. You’re coming with me.”

At that, Billy visibly tensed up. “No I’m not.”

Hopper thought of how he’d refused to move, last time, before Hopper told him where they were going, and said, “I’m not gonna leave you out here tonight. I’m taking you to the station. You can spend the night there.”

“You’re not taking me home?” Billy said, after a beat, voice small.

“No”, Hopper sighed. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t like that very much right now.”

Billy hesitated, before reaching into the car and grabbing a couple of things; a wallet, a sweater. His keys. He was slow to close the car door and lock it, almost as if he was trying to drag it out, but Hopper showed patience for possibly the first time in his life and didn’t sigh or roll his eyes. Instead, he waited for the kid to finish up. When he did, he handed him the blanket as well, and watched as Billy rolled his shirt up in it and put the bundle under an arm.

“Let’s go.”

When they got to the Cruiser, he rounded the car and got in, before leaning over and opening the door to the passenger’s seat. He hoped that letting Billy get in himself would make him feel a little bit more at ease – show that Hopper trusted him not to run.

“Come on.” The kid climbed in – slowly, as if he was expecting Hopper to strike out or something, and gingerly, as if he was in pain. Hopper clenched his jaw at both those things.

Not trusting himself not to step in it again, he didn’t say a word on the drive back to the station. Neither did the kid. The teenagers that Hopper had seen by the playground had abandoned their spot, and were now loitering outside the library. Ordinarily, Hopper would have stopped the car, gotten out and made sure the kids knew he was watching them, but now he just drove past them. Billy hunched down next to him when he spotted them, as if he didn’t want to be seen. Hopper pretended not to notice.

It was an awkward ride.

When they got to the station, Hopper parked right outside the entrance and got out. The kid didn’t, not until Hopper walked around to the other side of the car and opened the door with a raised eyebrow. "What are you waiting for, an invitation? Come on.”

“I’m not running”, the kid murmured, but got out.

The station was dark and empty, just like when Hopper had left, and he pointed at a door down the hall. “There’s the bathroom. If you wanna clean up.” When Billy turned to look at him, Hopper gestured at his face. “There’s a first aid kit in there somewhere. Check under the sink, or on the shelf behind the toilet.” Billy swallowed, but nodded, and Hopper snatched the blanket bundle from under his arm before he left – putting it on the closest desk when Billy made an aborted gesture to reach out for it. “Go.”

Once the kid was out of sight and he could hear running water, Hopper picked up the kid’s blanket bundle and went inside his office. He put it on the couch that he kept in there – for late nights and early mornings (and yes, sometimes afternoon naps) – and then walked over to his desk. There were piles upon piles of paperwork spread out over the whole surface of it. With more than a little satisfaction, he put all of it in the only drawer in his desk that would lock – it wouldn’t do to leave case files and sensitive information out where an outsider could see it, after all. Wouldn’t be very _professional_ of him.

When he went back out, the kid was already done. He was leaning over Powell’s desk, but straightened up when Hopper walked out. He looked a little better. He’d cleaned up the blood under his nose, and had exchanged the band-aid on his eyebrow. His lower lip was swollen and in different shades of purple, and the bridge of his nose looked a little swollen too, but at least there was no visible blood anymore. He still held himself as if he was in pain, and Hopper could only guess how Billy’s torso must look under his shirt and jacket.

He didn’t want to make more demands, though, so he simply stopped in front of Billy and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Billy was visibly fighting the urge to shrink back, and Hopper eased his stance.

“No, sir.”

This put a whole new spin on the ‘sir’, and it left a bad taste in Hopper’s mouth. But it wasn’t something he was going to address right now.

“You sure?” he asked, giving the kid another chance to speak up, if he felt he needed medical attention.

“Yeah”, Billy answered, and even dared to meet Hopper’s eye for a second. Hopper figured that was good enough.

“Alright, let’s get you settled for the night, then.” He turned and started walking back to his office, but when he looked over his shoulder he discovered that the kid was still standing there, looking confused. “Come on, then.”

Billy’s eyes flicked to the holding cells on the other side of the room. “But …”

“You think I’d put you in a cell?” Hopper asked, to clarify. The look on the kid’s face said it all. “Kid. I’m not putting you in a cell. You can use the couch in my office. Come on.”

Billy didn’t look relieved – if anything, he looked even more apprehensive. He ran his tongue over his fat lip and fidgeted where he stood. Hopper let out a sigh, and only then did he move. Hopper couldn’t help noticing that he made sure to stay out of Hopper’s reach.

In Hopper’s office, Billy turned around and took in the whole room before facing Hopper, hands at his sides, shoulders tense. He looked like he was waiting for something. Hopper didn’t want to know what, so he cleared his throat and motioned to the couch.

“Right. Well, you can sleep here tonight. You know where the bathroom is. Don’t go through my shit, and if you need anything, I’ll be –“ He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “– out there.”

The kid was still looking tense and uncomfortable. Hopper rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, the door locks from the inside. If you …” He took a deep breath. “Yeah. Anyway. Get some rest.”

He walked out, closing the door behind him, and had only taken a couple of steps away from the door when he heard it lock behind him. It made him wince. It wasn’t any wonder the kid didn’t trust him, of course, but he didn’t think that he’d given the kid any reason to think he would be unsafe here. At least not _this time_.

But again, that was a problem for later. Hopper’s biggest problem right now – not counting the abused teenager locking himself in his office – was that technically, he only had a couple of hours left on his shift, but now he was going to have to stay here all night. Because it wasn’t like he could leave the kid unattended in an empty police station all night while he went home to get some sleep.

He sighed, and made for the coffee machine. After turning it on, he sat down at Callahan’s desk and waited. Almost wishing he had brought some of the paperwork from his desk out here with him.

***

Hopper didn’t sleep. He’d eventually given up on drinking coffee and rolling his thumbs, and had started doing Callahan’s paperwork – figuring that if he did _Callahan’s_ , then he could put Callahan on doing _his_ without Flo giving him the evil eye for it.

He’d drunk almost a whole pot of coffee and he just _knew_ that he would pay for it later. Today was going to suck.

A low click made him look up from where he was resting his head on his arms – definitely not sleeping – and he caught Billy’s eye when he came out of the office, the blanket once again rolled up and under his arm. Hopper leaned back in his (technically Callahan’s) chair and stretched, before murmuring, “’Morning, kid. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, sir”, the kid lied. It didn’t look like he’d slept any more than Hopper had. There were bags under his eyes and he was still clearly uncomfortable. His hair was an unruly mess and sticking out in every direction.

“I’ll heat up some coffee”, Hopper said and stood up.

“I’ll just –“ The kid motioned to the bathroom, and after a nod from Hopper he slunk in there and closed the door.

Five minutes later, they were both seated at Powell’s desk – Hopper was in Callahan’s chair and Billy was in Powell’s. They each had a cup of hot but stale coffee, which made Hopper grimace when he tasted it. He still drank it, though. He needed it for the conversation that was going to follow.

“Okay”, he said after taking a sip. “First question: is it safe for you to go home?”

“Yes”, Billy answered, too fast.

Hopper overlooked the lie this time. Perhaps he should have started with something else. “Next question: do you have a place to go, in the –“ He held up a finger to stop the kid from interrupting. “– in the _hypothetical_ event that you would _not_ , in fact, be safe at home?”

Billy winced, but then nodded. It didn’t look very convincing.

“Billy. Do you have a place you can stay, that isn’t your car?”

Taking a deep breath, Billy nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

Hopper watched him for a second, to make sure that he was being truthful, but Billy didn’t fidget or look away. He didn’t look happy, but at least it looked like he had somewhere he could go.

“Then here’s the deal”, Hopper continued and put his cup down on the desk. “I don’t wanna catch you sleeping in your car again. You either go to – to wherever it is you can go to – or you come here. You can use the couch any time. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hopper grimaced. “Alright. How are you feeling this morning?” He could _see_ the kid gearing up to say he was fine or something, and continued before he got the chance, “And don’t bullshit me, kid.”

Billy deflated. “I’ve had worse.”

“Of course you have”, Hopper muttered, under his breath, as he stood up. “Well, my shift ended six hours ago. Come on, I’ll drive you back to your car.”

The drive was uneventful. Hopper thought about trying one last time to get the kid to open up, but one look at the kid’s face, and he knew he wouldn’t talk. Not now. He didn’t trust Hopper, and the worst thing was that Hopper couldn’t even blame him for it. He blew it before he even knew it.

So he left the kid by his car without pushing him further. He only asked, “Okay, so, you have a place to go now?”

“Sure”, Billy said and threw his blanket bundle into the passenger seat of the Camaro before he straightened up. “Thank you for the ride back, sir.” It sounded as if he was reciting it, and Hopper took a deep breath through his nose.

“No problem, kid. Remember what I said.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hopper watched as Billy got in the car – still more gingerly than Hopper was comfortable with – and stayed where he was until he drove off, and he couldn’t see him anymore. He could still hear the car, of course. It _was_ the loudest car in Hawkins.

Then he got back in the Cruiser. For a moment, he rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes. It had been a long night, and he’d spent most of it remembering things about his own teenage years that he would rather not have been reminded of.

He had some research to do now, he supposed. He still had some contacts in the bigger cities – he was pretty sure Johnson was still in Los Angeles. Finding out more about Billy – and Neil – Hargrove, would mean a whole lot more paperwork. And god, Hopper really hated paperwork.

But he felt that in this instance, it was unavoidable.

He would have to watch the kid more closely from now on, now that he knew what was going on. Not that he would be able to do anything about it, if Billy wouldn’t talk. And Billy didn’t seem to keen on talking. Which was probably Hopper’s fault, at least partly.

Fuck. Hopper was so _tired_.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd: glanced through it once before posting, but that's all. So, you know, if you see any mistakes or inconsistencies ... let me know (I'm ihni on tumblr if you wanna point out several mistakes, but don't want to do it in a comment!)


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